Poetry Hut Blog

Poetry News:

1. — The most important American love poet in living memory, and certainly one of the most important American poets —
2. — Vet Post Honors PTSD Victim, a Suicide [his poems are here] —
3. — Sylvia Plath’s art of the visual —
4. — New York poet and Toledo’s Zin String Quartet to perform multimedia tribute to geniuses —
5. — “Poesía diaria” rinde honor a desaparecidos en Argentina [English translation at this link]—
6. — Jean Sprackland, of Southport, took the title in the poetry category of the Costa Book awards, formerly known as the Whitbread Prize —

So what online archive can I pillage for poetry news now? I already did the free NYT and Time Magazine archives. What I learned from those articles:

a. the public has never supported poetry
b. poets have never made any $ from poetry
c. women poets have always been marginalized but at least some aren’t called “spinsters” anymore
d. poetry has never sold
hahaha

Poetry News:

1. — New lit mag alert —
2. — Afghan woman poet Nadia Anjuman remembered two years on —
3. — TO make one anthology is not necessarily a proof of courage; it may be merely a sign of ignorance. But to dare the wrath of neglected poets and of their friends the critics a second time, is bravery. —
4. — Jane Cooper: 1924-2007 Read poems, listen to recordings, and learn about her life. —
5. — The best informative writing about war needs to be in prose. In poetry, it’s more a matter of embedding expressions of daily life, inner and outer, in the times —
6. — Literary Podcasts —
7. — Jean Valentine - The Japanese garden —
8. — The first attack I found against a newspaper came in 1800, when a Federalist poet decided that his party’s defeat at the hands of the Republicans could be blamed entirely on the media —
9. — The “border of poetry” is “dreamfaces blurring horrorlands” —
10. — Take a look at Eleanor Rees’s exercise on reimagining familiar environments, which she has called Stepping Out —

LOL I ask questions on this blog once in a while but people email me rather than post comments. Bok Bok Bok. {chickens} Thanks for the emails though.

This is sort of pathetically funny. Maybe it is because of the neighborhood I grew up in, but even *I* know that falafel is not a Persian, Iranian, Chaldean, etc food. [Must. Not. Make. Bill. O'Reilly. Joke.] But seriously, when my sister flew back to AZ from Detroit last time, she brought a jar of good Dearborn tahini with her & the TSA had a fit. It really caused a problem. Part of it was because they couldn’t decide if it was a liquid or gel or whatever. And the label was all in Arabic. Actually, that’s pretty funny too, now that I think of it.

We always have a container of Costco hummos in the ‘fridge. So I guess we are screwed hahaha. I was emailing with someone about that article & we reckon that maybe if you buy bacon it does an if / else and throws your purchase out of the system.

if item !=pork then go on
else if item = pork then quit

or there could be a special “lone wolf/extremist” category

else if item =ViennaSausages
or item =RonPaulDonation

then write “lone wolf.”

A found poem from our conversation:

Purina One
BILLOFRIGHTS
BILLOFRIGHTS
Scott Tissue
BILLOFRIGHTS
Produce
SPAM
BILLOFRIGHTS
Bananas
Milk
BILLOFRIGHTS
Hershey Kisses
BILLOFRIGHTS
Tide
BILLOFRIGHTS
Brawny
BILLOFRIGHTS
Land-O-Lakes Butter
BILLOFRIGHTS
BILLOFRIGHTS
Twinkies

Poetry News:

1. — “When women stop reading, the novel will be dead” —
2. — G. C. Waldrep Blood Ruminant [link found here thank you] —
3. — Woman visits her own heart at exhibition —
4. — Don’t blame Bukowski for bad poetry —
5. — A Fiddle Pulled from the Throat of a Sparrow by Noah Eli Gordon —
6. — John Walsh reports on an extraordinary literary discovery that reveals the troubled adolescence of a poetic genius —
7. — Gibbon could not have chosen a more appropriate opening for this collection which is, at times, painfully visceral —

So I think: what kind of bizarro world have we stepped into? And the next day I think what kind of bizarro world have we stepped into? Tomorrow I will think: what kind of bizarro world have we stepped into?

My dad’s mother, Theresa Korte, her dad’s ancestors came to the USA from Schönholthausen, Prussia in the 1800s. So I looked in WikiPedia and got that translation. Very funny.

I was a Grand Prize winner in last year’s contest at Chronogram. They sent this email regarding this year’s contest:

Perhaps the true test of the enduring power of a great literary work is whether it can survive its incarnation”complete with pom-poms, falling chandeliers, and aggressively perky singers in spandex”as a Broadway musical. When last we looked, Big River had not dislodged The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn from its pedestal; on the other hand, most of our friends and neighbors can more readily mangle a tune from Man of La Mancha than provide a cogent exegesis of the Cervantes novel on which it was based. As for Cats, well.

For this year‘ HUMOR CONTEST, we invite you to create titles for the Broadway musical versions of classic works of literature that Stephen Sondheim, Andrew Lloyd Webber, et al have heretofore overlooked. Please provide a title and, for extra credit, a few representative songs,
e.g.:

Crack Your Cheeks!
King Lear, the musical
(”Oh Fool, Who‘ Fooling Who Now?” “Poor Tom‘ A”™Cool”)

The Ring and I
Lord of the Rings, the musical
(”These Are a Few of My Favorite Rings,” “They Call the Mines Moria”)

Bye-Bye Bertie
Jeeves and Wooster, the musical
(”Springtime for Butler,” “Gussie Fink-Nottle Keeps Newts in a Bottle”)

Contest judges are Mikhail Horowitz and Nina Shengold, and winning entries will appear in the Literary Supplement of the November issue. Winners receive a Chronogram tee-shirt, suitable for wearing or framing. Contest deadline is October 1. Please send entries (no more than three per person, please!) to fiction@chronogram.com or Humor Contest, Chronogram, 314 Wall Street, Kingston NY 12401.

For my sister, Intissar, and for Dr. Clarissa Pinkola Estés

Once upon a time

when crows flocked to the illuminated clouds of dreams, gold jingled
with midnight and the cooled sky sustained this wildness. But soon
came the reign of the Evil King, and his dazed kingdom had nursed far too long

on bad tidings presented as medicine, to be taken as the eye accepts a magic trick,
gladly. And so, in the beds of the kingdom, the troubled sleepers were as tight buds,
and even their dreaming could not unfurl the worries pressed upon them

by the Evil King. For his heart was a dark labyrinth. For he was drunk
on his inheritances, and so the hearts of his Evil Court did become intoxicated
also on this syrupy poison, and so the heart of the Evil King quickened

at the chance to spread its sickness. And did quicken at the chance
to spread war and fright. And so the people of the kingdom became
sorely afraid, and so the dreams of the troubled sleepers shuddered.

For since the dreams of the sleeping kingdom did not now hold even one
golden thread or one embroidered canopy, the Queen of the Dream Crows
did speak, Caw! for the Queen was a wise Queen and a generous Queen

and she wanted her flock to prosper. The people of the kingdom do suffer.
The dreams of this sleeping kingdom, we must restore. We must restore
their peaceful sleep and again we can gather our dream treasure. Caw!

And so at great speed the Queen ordered her flock to fly.
And so the flock arrived at the hidden-yet-glittering storehouse
of the Dream Crows. With the care of a drought-stricken bird,

each crow pecked up one bright and shiny mirror. And with them
they flew. Each crow to the troubled kingdom. Back to the Evil King.
Each crow flew above the sorrowful dreams of the sleepers.

And oh, the night-birds gathered at the palace of the Evil King.
And oh, the night-birds placed the mirrors around the Evil King.
Caw! spoke the Queen, let us wait to see him awaken; he will see

the truth of his wicked heart in our mirrors. Caw! And it came to pass
that in the morning the Evil King traveled back from the land of dreams.
And the Dream Crows shook their blue-black feathers.

But oh, the Evil King’s heart was as a shriveled pea, and much too small
for him to see. And oh, the hearts of the birds, their own good hearts,
fell. And yet there was not one sound. My flock ““ Caw! then spoke the Queen,

let us, ourselves, sleep. The work of the day is carried by the kingdom,
so let us try again to-night. Caw! And while the Dream Crows slept,
the drivers of the kingdom drove their cars. The writers of the kingdom

filled their books. The musicians of the kingdom hung their music in the air.
And while the Dream Crows slept, it was as if the people of the kingdom
woke from a long journey in the land of dreams. So that when, in the night,

when the crows flocked to the illuminated clouds of dreams, they found gold again jingled
with the midnight and again the cooled sky. At first, scattered bits of glitter but
becoming once again tightly-woven. Caw! the Queen of the Dream Crows

did speak, for the Queen was a wise Queen and a good Queen. The Evil King could not see
his own evil heart. But as when dreams bestow unto sleepers bits of treasure to use
during their work of the day, in our mirrors the people of the kingdom surely saw the truth

of the Evil King’s heart, and this was also a treasure unto them. In all amongst you,
can any one bird tell me, in amongst all the stories from amongst all the lands,
has there ever been an Evil King who ruled forever? Keep this in your heart. Caw!

The Reanimation of Ted Williams’ Frozen Head

It is almost imperceptible — the twinkle of ice rime thawing
in an interior steel room filled with exaggerated gases,
near a regal super-neuro-unificator machine.

Everything is silent but for a discontinuous tinkling,
which means the enfolding of the field begins,
which is a prognostication of the heft of the bat,

which means science is in the catbird seat,
conquering the poke and stir of ashes,
so the scientists all incant: whosoever

liveth and believeth in me shall never die.
The super-neuro-unificator goes “ding”
and Ted Williams’ head twitches, and

Ted Williams’ head opens his eyes,
and the scientists all step forward,
and the scientists peer down

like Zeuses. They ask: tell us how
it was, when the air was good,
and tell us about baseball

and green grass Sundays of
left field. Please do
begin.

I haven’t posted a poem/draft here in … forever. So here’s a newish one from last month. My poetic output has been slim for a while, due to not feeling too hot, but I’m starting to feel better. I’m pretty slow and picky during the best of times, anyway. Bishopian, even. (I recently took apart my book manuscript & halved it to chapbook size.)

I keep taking the first stanza of this poem out, putting it back in, taking it out, putting it back in, standing back, squinting, taking it out again, putting it back in again.

Also, I’ve come to the conclusion that I think that ding in quotes:

“ding”

is somehow funnier than ding in italics:

ding

But maybe it is just me, LOL.

ps Ted Williams for non-baseball fans. Also, no news this weekend. And no weekend news for the rest of the summer probably. Have a good weekend.

Poetry News:

1. — a bookshelf called the Cave, which allows readers to curl up in a form-fitting seat, surrounded by their beloved books —
2. — He removed WB Yeats’ tonsils, and was made infamous by Ulysses —
3. — Best summer reads: poetry —
4. — Zemeckis’ ‘Beowulf’ to bow in IMAX —
5. — Summer Reading: The poetry of Anna Akhmatova —
6. — Three titles published by the University of Arizona Press were honored May 31 at the ninth annual International Latino Book Awards —
7. — CD Wright’s bold and sensual poems are rooted in the blue-collar South, says Vesna Goldsworthy —
8. — If only Bush would have read a little poetry first … [link via Peter Pereira's The Virtual World thank you] —

Happy Canada Day, Canada! I miss living next to your 2nd-largest-country-in-the-worldness. Hope you get Monday off from work.